Hi, I’m George.

I grew up in a working-class family in dear old East Boston, where nobody talked much about finding your creative voice. We had more pressing concerns, like getting home in time for supper. While still in high school, I discovered art and by one of those small miracles it led to a full scholarship to study at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

Then it was off to the military, followed by an intensive year immersed in all things photography at Franklin Institute in Boston, one of the best-kept secrets in photographic education.

By another miracle, I was hired right out of school by a multinational company with big ambitions and an equally big appetite for photographs. That job took me straight out of East Boston and into a world I didn’t know existed. For the next ten years, they sent me everywhere. I met steelworkers, surgeons, authors, scientists, pilots, executives, and a whole collection of people who knew how to do things I knew absolutely nothing about.

At the time, I thought they were paying me to take pictures. Turns out they were giving me an education.

Anyway, enough of the résumé. I barely read it myself.

I believe photographs are better when people are allowed to be themselves, so I try not to turn a workplace into a photography studio. I bring what I need, stay out of the way when I should, move something when I have to, and pay attention to those moments when everybody forgets I’m there.

I never learned to play the piano, I still think a darkroom smells pretty good, and after all these years, I can still lose an unreasonable amount of time watching light reflecting off water.

I’ve photographed my way around the world, put out a couple of books, raised a family, and made some photographs I’m still proud of. I’ve also been at it long enough to know there’s always something left to learn, which keeps me reasonably humble.

I’m George Disario.

Thanks, Dad. Wish you were here.